


Albatross

by triforcelegends8



Series: Intoxicated [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock deals with the after-effects of John's actions last night. He also contemplates why John would have done such a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Albatross

When Sherlock was back in his room, he slammed the door shut to further convey his anger to John. Then, he stood there in the dark room, unlit, thinking about what had transpired the night before. He wasn’t trying to think about it. He just was, without his own accord. He was thinking about how John had ordered him onto the bed and threatened him with a knife. How it seemed John had thought Sherlock enjoyed it at the end. How he had come even though he didn’t want to. His body had betrayed him and put his mind second in command.

The dark-haired man took a shaky breath and started towards the bed to lie down and think more comfortably when he stopped. He was staring at the bed with wide, frightened eyes and his body was stock still. Memories of John taking him, forcing him into sex came flooding back to him. His breathing became labored and struggled to make its way out of his lungs. He could feel John’s hands on him, the man’s member hard inside him, moving in and out at a rough pace. Sherlock could hear John’s breath against him as he worked his hips and his body against the detective. He gasped and lurched forward to get away from John and flailed his arms out behind him to ward off the man’s advances.

But his arms met nothing, just the air behind him. His chest was still heaving, but he was calming down. Wrapping his arms around himself, he leaned against the wall and attempted to further control himself. He was breathing through his nose heavily and he became aware that his whole body was shaking. He couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel anything except the feeling of intense fear. He closed his eyes and tried to ground himself. He knew what had just happened to him. He had had a panic attack.

It was rather quick, for which he was thankful, but it was still disconcerting. He knew he had to give John recompense for what he’d done, but he hadn’t planned on actually experiencing any repercussions himself. He was more messed up than he initially thought. He felt physical pain, yes, but that was expected. This… He never could have predicted he would have mental and psychological symptoms as well.

Sherlock, finally calm, suddenly felt extremely… unclean. He felt John’s hands and their print still on his body, his chest, his arse, his back. He could still feel the alcohol-fueled kisses on his neck and the sweat and ejaculate all over him like a thick layer of mud covering his skin. Alarmed, he was about to open the door when he realized John was still probably out in the living room and would see him enter the bathroom. The man whimpered at his current dilemma. He _needed_ to wash up and get rid of the smell, the feeling of John’s hands, and everything that had to do with John. But he was stuck in his room.

He began to breath quickly again and closed his eyes to prevent another attack. He was glad he was still intelligent enough to recognize the signs and triggers for the attacks. He took a few calming breaths and focused on the feel of the robe on his back instead of the ghost of John’s hands. And he stood there with arms wrapped around himself, eyes closed, and body leaning against the wall for a while, just trying to keep calm.

After several minutes, he opened his eyes and tore himself away from the wall, making his way towards the only chair in his room. It was a normal wooden chair, not too comfortable, but it would be better than having panic attacks in the bed. He lowered himself down onto the uncomfortable chair, his weight leaning to one side and rested his hands on his knees. He needed to analyze what happened last night, but if he kept freaking out, it would be impossible. Sherlock grunted in anger and glared at the bed. Why did John do this to him? Why did Sherlock let John’s actions affect him like this? He was supposed to be the only consulting detective, the machine, the freak who doesn’t have feelings.

Instead of lying to himself any longer, Sherlock finally admitted that he did, in fact, have feelings: anger, sadness, happiness, and now, thanks to John, anxiety. Sherlock’s hands clenched around his knees when he noticed something peculiar- he had the beginnings of an erection.

That _couldn’t_ be right. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t actually enjoyed what John had done to him, had he? The answer was in the affirmative for when he thought of John and his actions, his member gave a slight twitch. No. This could  not be happening. He didn’t get erections. Never. He couldn’t begin to explain why he was getting one now of all times. He shifted a bit and gasped when he felt the cloth of his boxers rub against his half-hard cock. He immediately covered his mouth with his hand and refused to move any more until his erection went down.

_Why is this happening to me?_ He thought in despair. He shouldn’t be getting off on what happened to him, what had been forced on him. _Maybe I liked it. Maybe I… wanted it…_ Sherlock’s eyes widened at the impossible thought that tore through his mind. _No! I didn’t want it, I… why did he do it then?_

Sherlock’s more sane self focused on why John had raped him and not the act itself, which was easier and less anxiety inducing. He had to think. He had to use what he knew about rapists and apply it to John, no matter how hard it was to accept that his friend was now branded as a rapist in his mind.

The big question was 'Why did John rape him?' Why? Usually rape was an act of aggression or show of dominance towards the victim. That didn’t seem to fit John very well. He was the most grounded person he knew, besides Mrs. Hudson. Was he angry about something? As the detective thought more, he wondered why John had started drinking in the first place. Stress at work? Possibly, but not very likely. It could also be his family in some way. Sherlock seemed to remember John talking about his parents and their financial issues and the ever-alcoholic Harry. But had that been enough to drive him to the bar every night for the past few nights? That didn’t seem too likely either. John had been through so much more. He had been in Afghanistan for God’s sake.

Sherlock’s eyes widened with a sudden realization. Just recently they had solved a case involving soldiers. The murders had been grotesque and done like killing would have been in the battlefield. Maybe that had triggered anxiety in John and he didn’t know how to really deal with it. Normally, he would go on cases with Sherlock to get rid of any anxiety involving his time in Afghanistan, but that case had been the only they had for a while. Or he would go to his therapist, but she didn’t seem to help much before, let alone during that case.

But was that really all there was to it? There was no indication that the case had bothered John in any way. He seemed put off, at best, by the brutality of the murders, but so was everyone else. Sherlock growled and unconsciously brought his hands up to his face in his ‘thinking position’ and thought more about why John would have done such a heinous act to the dark-haired man. Since it rape was usually an act of aggression, there had to be a reason he did it to Sherlock. He was annoying at times, yes, and he could be a stubborn child as well, but he always was like that. John shouldn’t just snap one day and commit rape because he was annoyed with Sherlock.

But maybe he had snapped. Sherlock’s brow furrowed and his hands lowered a fraction. Maybe Sherlock’s constant attitude and lack of respect towards the doctor had finally thrown John over the edge. Perhaps Sherlock had been too rude at some recent point in time that had put the man off and he felt Sherlock deserved… a lesson, so to speak.

Sherlock swallowed past the lump in his throat. That couldn’t be it. Sherlock being Sherlock couldn’t have made John want to punish him in the way he did. But all the facts were there. Now that Sherlock thought about it, John had seemed agitated quite a bit lately. And he was too caught up with acting like a child all the time to notice. He just assumed his friend was the same as always. He was writing his blog, he was going with Sherlock on cases, and he was nagging the detective about leaving disembodied body parts in the fridge, everything seemed normal.

But Sherlock of all people knew that looks could be deceiving. You had to _see_ what was there instead of just looking. But, unfortunately, that’s all the sleuth had done these past few weeks regarding John. He hadn’t stored any information regarding John lately into his mind. He didn’t have his mind palace to go back to as a reliable source for analyzing John’s recent behavior. All he had were his actions last night and the conversation they had had just moments ago. That wasn’t much to go on. But it would have to be enough.

He thought back to the conversation. He had definitely recorded it and now he was analyzing John’s body language- tense in the arms and legs, most likely sore, but relaxed in his shoulders and torso. Next was his speech- normal. That was definitely disconcerting. He should have been ridden with guilt, maybe even sick from it. But he was speaking normally, as if nothing was wrong. As if he didn’t care that he had raped Sherlock. Nonetheless, the dark-haired man continued to analyze the recent interaction and noticed John’s eyes. They were always staring coldly at Sherlock. Not in the normal ‘it’s a bit not good’ stare, but calculatingly. He was deducing Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes, which were closed, snapped open. John was deducing him because he wanted to see if he had affected the detective. He was trying to gauge whether he had taught the man a lesson. He hadn’t apologized because he wasn’t sorry. He wanted him like this- scared and disarmed. And Sherlock let him know that he was affected thoroughly. That was the biggest mistake of his life.


End file.
